


Version Two

by tygermine



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 23:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16129286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tygermine/pseuds/tygermine
Summary: How Pete makes Trace’s band join Decaydance.





	Version Two

**Author's Note:**

> This title might be changed.

“Pete, aren“t you a bit old?“”

Patrick is sitting in Pete’s home office, tumbler of bourbon in hand, the surface slick with condensation.

“Too old?” Pete sounds confused. Patrick blames his Peter Pan complex.

“The average age of their audience is twelve,“ Patrick tries to explain.

“So? Think of it as expanding our fanbase,“ Pete says with a wide sweep of his arms.

“Pete, the only role they’ll offer you is the creepy pedo teacher in an episode dedicated to the inappropriate relationships between students and teachers,“ Patrick can feel a headache forming between his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose ineffectively.

Pete scoffs and turns back to his laptop.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with Metro Station, does it?“ Patrick needs to push that button.

“I just can’t believe we missed it! They got signed the same year they formed.“

“But unlike us, they didn’t suck when they started.“

“Talented little bitches,“ Pete laments.

“Explains Panic.“

“But I’m their daddy and they listen to me. We need Metro in the portfolio. I hear twelve year olds have the biggest spending power these days.“

“Just let me know how it goes.“ Patrick finishes his bourbon and heads back to the studio. Travis must have hot boxed it by now and Patrick feels the need to join their headspace for a bit.

 

So Pete gets a guest role on Hannah Montana. Not surprisingly, he plays a record exec trying to seduce Hannah away from her current label to his label. Hannah almost buys it until her dad reveals Pete for the pedo-seducer he is and Pete ends up covered in purple paint.

He leaves the show feeling really good about the ending. He also leaves with Trace’s number in his sidekick.

“Hi Trace, this is Pete Wentz.“

The line goes dead.

”Hi Trace. This isn’t a prank call. It really is Pete Wentz. I want to talk to you about joining Decaydance. Call me back.“

Patrick watches on with an amused gleam in his eye.

“Trace resisting? Good for him.“

Pete flips him the bird while typing a text to Miley about her brother’s cold shoulder.

Miley must have said something to Trace because a week later, he finally answers the phone.

“We’re not sucking your cock.“

Pete blinks in surprise. The actual thought of Trace“s lips wrapped around his cock hadn“t even crossed his mind until Trace answered. Now, he can“t seem to see anything else.

“Uh. Why not?“ Pete has to goad.

“My jaw’s sore from sucking Matthew’s.“

Pete nods in agreement. Legend has it the A&R guy’s hung like a horse.

“What if I told you that you don’t have to suck my cock in order to get signed to Decaydance?“ Pete purrs.

“I’m not fucking my bandmates just for publicity either,“ Trace is playing hard to get.

„And for love?“

„Why do you think I keep Miley around?“ Trace seems set on fucking with Pete. „Cut to the chase Pete. You missed us on MySpace and now you’re sore thinking about how much you’re losing in profits.“

“Anyone tell you you’re an arrogant son of a bitch?“ Pete can’t help smiling at Trace’s sharp intake of breath.

“Dude, I’m from the south. Don’t call my mother a bitch,“ Trace waits a beat before adding „The arrogance is genetic.“

Pete knows Trace doesn’t know that Pete knows he’s adopted. He wants to keep this fucker on his toes.

“Look, I have a sweet deal here for you guys. Columbia is a bunch of assholes that will kill Pete’s in schmooze mode. „Come to AK tonight, we’ll discuss this over a beer.“

“I hear you don’t drink. Dad always said never trust a guy who doesn’t drink,“ Trace sounds extremely young all of a sudden.

“I’m heavily medicated. That trumps wino any day.“

“See you at 8.“

The line goes dead.

**************8

AK is filled with hipsters and labelmates. Madonna is blaring from the dance floor, where Joel has taken up the decks. Pete sits in a booth towards the back of the club where it’s dark and a little quieter.

His leg jangles in anticipation while his fingers drum on the tabletop. Andy is sitting across from him checking out the sprayed on jeans of the girls at the bar while Joe sits next to him. Stoned.

Patrick bowed out of the evening earlier that day.

“Pete, I have tons of work to do. I’m not going to sit in a dark bar and watch you get shot down by some Disney Channel reject,” Patrick had sighed down the line. He could hear Pete sulking on the other end.

“But Paaaaaatriiiiiiiiiick, “ Pete whined “He won’t take me seriously. I need an adult around.”

“Admitting it is the first step. Pete, I gotta go. Good luck.”

The traitorous front man disconnected and Pete threw his phone against the nearest surface, which, luckily, was his bed.

“I see a mouseketeer,” Joe crowed, breaking Pete’s extended sulk.

“Where?” then Pete remembered to be cool, cleared his throat and arranged his face to an almost bored expression.

“You know,” Andy pointed a finger at Pete. “Constipation can be cured by eating more fibre and drinking less coke.”

“Fuck you. I’m not…constipated.”

“Yeah? Then what’s with the face?”

“I’m playing it cool,” Pete explained.

“Oh god. I hear a West Side Story medley coming up. I need a drink,” Joe moved at the speed of light, grabbing Andy by the wrist and pulling him along. Suddenly Pete was alone.

And then he wasn’t.

A tall, skinny, tattooed kid sat in Joe’s vacated seat.

“You’re late,” was all Pete could think to say.

“Yeah? What you gonna do? Fire me?” Trace smirked; the smirk that can only be perfected by spoiled brats of famous people.

“Let me sign you up first.”

“Pete, we’ve been over this. I don’t want to sign to Decaydance. We’re happy where we are. The label is looking after us better than anyone could.”

“Did they also force you to dress like its 2004?” Pete nodded towards Trace“s poker straight black hair that hung over his face.

“Oh, yeah, like lime hoodies are groundbreakingly progressive.” Trace snorted.

“Insulting your future boss’s wardrobe is not the best step forward,” Pete grumped.

Trace shrugged.

Pete decided to go in for the kill. “How can I show you that you belong with Decaydance?”

“Nothing. We know all about your fucking orgy of a label.”

“You need to stop reading LJ. Its all bullshit,” Pete shook his finger at the younger man.

“Is it?” Trace was on a roll. “I don’t see you do anything to stop it.”

“What am I supposed to do? Email every single sicko out there that writes that shit and tell them they’re being weird? Yeah, that’ll work wonders,” Pete scoffed. “Just…come past the office. I have a whole development schedule set up for you.”

He didn’t mention that it was Brian fucking Schechter of all people who showed him what a “development schedule” was in the first place and what the hell was the guy thinking anyway? You can’t just ditch your friends because you want to take up organic farming or whatever the fuck he’s doing now.

“Yeah, uh huh, development schedule,” Trace’s smile was wide and sarcastic.

“Just come by tomorrow.”

“What about now?” Trace was running a finger along the damp side of his glass.

Pete looked like he’d swallowed a fly. “Now? As in right now? Uh. Yeah. Ok. Sure.” Pete slid out of the booth and led Trace out of AK. On the sidewalk, he ignored the shiver that shot through his spine and hailed a cab. Within minutes, they were outside his apartment building.

“I guess you work from home?” Trace said squinting up at the building.

Pete could only nod as he walked up the steps and into the lavish foyer. He suddenly realized that he was glad Ashlee had fucked off to LA to see her sister who was yet again in the middle of a media shitstorm about her latest break up. If only Jessica would come out in the open and say she’s madly in love with Agnes Dean and move to London and live happily ever after instead of going out with loser playboys. He had ideas of what he wants to do to John Mayer and none of them would end without bloodshed. Mostly John’s, not his.

He let Trace into the apartment and turned on the lights, more for Trace’s benefit than his own. He can navigate his apartment in the dark, between Bronx’s toys, Hemmy’s toys and his toys strewn everywhere. Once in his office, he rummaged through the chaos on his desk before pulling out a pink file with a triumphant sound.

Trace had settled onto a bean bag and looked at Pete expectantly. “So? Sell me.”

Pete began in earnest. He rambled about the artistic integrity of his label and the culture of the people in it and stopped himself short when he realized he sounded exactly like some thirty something A&R douchebag.

“Why’d you stop? I was enjoying that,” Trace smirked.

“Yeah. I don’t even believe myself on this. Look, you know the set up. Take it or leave it.”

Trace drummed his fingers against his chin. “I need a little more persuasion.”

The little bastard! Pete ran through various ideas to spring on the boy. Suddenly Trace was pressed up against Pete, pushing him into his desk. Pete, for maybe the second time in his life was speechless.

“Show me how badly you want my band,” Trace purred into his ear. He mouthed along Pete“s neck, sending shivers down his spine and making his dick twitch.  
Trace rolled his hips against Pete, giving him a long, hard idea of what the boy wanted.

“I…I’m not g…ga…gay,” Pete stuttered.

Trace pulled back to smirk. “No one is. Everyone is.”

And that made sense to Pete in a way he couldn’t begin to explain. He pushed Trace back until he was flat against the bright yellow wall, before attacking his belt.

“I guess it would be too much to ask for you to respect me in the morning, right?” Pete joked.

“Depends. Do I get pancakes in the morning?”

Pete considered it for a moment. “Coffee is all I have.”

“Then we’ll see,” Trace rolled his hips again, reminding Pete of what they were actually busy with. Pete ripped open Trace’s jeans and pulled them half way down his thighs as he sank to his knees. He couldn’t help but giggle at Trace’s superman tightie whities.

“Hey,” Trace pulled softly on a piece of Pete’s hair.

Oh, right. Dick. Suck. Got it. Pete peeled down the undies and swallowed nervously. Why is it that all the musicians these days are hung. He obviously wasn’t as big as Mikey, but there was still a challenge pointing at him. Leaking tip and all.

Pete licked his lips and went for it.

Lick. Suck. Swallow. Rinse repeat.

Above him, Trace had become very, very quiet. So quiet in fact, Pete had to look up and to his complete amusement, Trace had lost that stupid smirk of his and instead was red faced, wide eyed and panting. Pete went to town. He stroked Trace’s thighs, rubbed behind his knees, making them shake. He cupped Trace’s balls, fingertips lightly tracing around his entrance.

Trace started to chase Pete’s mouth. In. Out. In. Out. Pete choked once, before grabbing Trace’s dick and bobbing, sucking like he’s never sucked before. He could feel Trace twitch in his mouth and still he sucked. Suddenly there was a long, agonizing moan before Trace came.  
In. His. Mouth.

Pete spat before looking up at Trace. “Dude. Not cool.”

Trace smiled a little. “Sorry. Sorry. I…yeah.”

“Yeah.” Pete agreed with him and got to his feet. Trace did up his pants and moved towards the door.

“You’re not gonna stay and play Mario kart or something?”

“Nah. But have that contract ready in the morning.”

Pete pumped a fist in the air behind Trace’s retreating back.


End file.
